Pain
by StarryNinja
Summary: You are twenty-three. You are happy, for the first time in your life. You are painless. You are smiling. You can finally say with all smiles, that you, Jessica Smith, are okay. Rocketshippy? Maybe.


**Pain**

**

* * *

**

You're experiencing pain. Right now. This very second. You're three. The only pain a teetering toddler should ever go through is that bitch of a booster shot everyone gets when you're three. That pain is temporary. It hurts, yes, but it doesn't last long. This? This pain is different.

Your red hair is being brushed. One hundred strokes before she put the brush down. You feel her pulling it back, harshly, but it didn't hurt, not as much as the pain that you feel right now. Were you sad? Mad? Confused? You don't know. Where's your mom? She should be home.

"Madam Boss...where's my mom?" You look up to meet the old woman's eyes. They were cold, uncaring. She did not answer. Instead, she straightened her black dress, grabbed your hand, and pulled you outside. In your native language - not English, Japanese - she whispers so that you and only you may hear.

"Jessie-chan, pray to God tonight. Your mother needs it."

You do not understand. You turn your attention to the casket in front of you, the crowd dressed in black gathered around, and the priest mumbling a prayer in Latin. You see a familiar face in the casket. You see your mother, dressed in her Team Rocket uniform and an unmoving smile. She had died happy.

You do not cry. You do not scream. Instead, you grab ahold of Madam Boss's hand once more, swallow your tears, and let that horrible feeling of pain overcome your mind. You are three, and your mother is dead.

* * *

You are five now. Your cheek hurts. Jeffrey had slapped you again. This is pain. You remember it from when you were three. Only, this pain is not mentally overbearing. This pain is physical. You feel the familiar sting from his hand on your face. You are told you are a bad girl.

You learn to not scream when he slaps you. He will only slap you again, harder. You know this and you are prepared for another slap. You close your eyes and pray that he won't.

Like always, you are wrong. Like he said, you are always wrong. You are five, and this is pain.

Slap.

* * *

You are twelve. You are standing next to your best friend. Cassidy. You are playing hopscotch. You are singing. Cassidy's neighbors circle around you two. They push you around. They hit you. They call you names. But you, not Cassidy. You fight back, screaming. One punches you.

You are used to this kind of pain. Punches and pushes do not hurt you, for your skin will heal. Your mind will disregard the names But you see Cassidy. Standing, unmoving. She does not say anything. She only smiles weakly. You are angry.

You are betrayed. So this is your best friend, huh? You feel your eyes watering, but you dare not cry. She is not worth your tears, not anymore.

You are twelve. Welcome to emotional pain.

* * *

You're fourteen and you are with a boy. His name is Davis. You really like him. You're wearing that skirt you only wear when you're on a date, just for him. You guys are fooling around, laughing.

Then he touches you. You jerk away from him, surprised. He pulls you closer, but you tell him to stop. He presses his lips onto your neck. You try to pull away. He is too strong, his hands and nails digging into your skin. You try to fight; bite, scream, hit, kick. Anything. Nothing works.

You cry out when he pushes you against the wall. You tell him you'd to anything else. You are not ready for this. He ignores you and pushes your skirt up.

You cry. It hurts so fucking bad. You try to push him away. But he only pulls you back.

He leaves you in the alley. You want to die. It is raining. There is blood. Everywhere. You were not ready and you are in pain. The rain hides your tears from the people passing by. You are soaking wet from the rain. Your eyes feel heavy. You try to open them as best as you can. But they close. You pass out.

The darkness welcomes you. You are fourteen, and you are simply not ready.

* * *

You are twenty-three and Meowth wouldn't stop talking. But you look to your partner. You smile.

His name is James. He is your best friend. You feel safe with him. You are walking on the dirt path, close to the mountain edge. You are following the twerps. But you don't care that you are probably losing sight of them. Whatever.

James smiles at you. He jokes around, saying silly stuff. "Dawn's skirt is way too short for a toddler!" or "Have you seen Brock's eyes open! Creepy as hell." or "Ash, please evolve pikachu. We're super resistant to his shocks now." make you laugh. He laughs.

The twerps are just ahead of you. Now, to steal that electric rat...

"MEOWTH! James! Jess! You've gotta help me! Ah! Stupid buneary!" Meowth cries. He is dangling from the edge of path. A buneary is laughing. You sigh. How many times has Meowth chased that same bunny pokemon on this path. Let's face it. He will never outsmart that bunny.

James sighs as well. He bends over the edge, almost grabbing the cat's paw. You expect them to be fine. You expect Meowth to kick that bunny's ass.

You do not expect the buneary to kick James's back. He is hanging on the edge as well, only, he is holding onto Meowth's tail. You've been in this situation before, back at the academy.

You scramble to your feet. You pull Meowth's paw, only to have the cat complain. You hear bones cracking already.

Meowth is in pain. You know it. You try again, muttering in a shaky voice, "Suck it up, cat." They are too heavy for you to pull up. Your arm is moving out of place. You scream in pain.

James looks at you. You know what he's about to do. You scream at him, telling him to not let go. He ignores you, says, "I love you Jessica." And he let's go. Meowth is screaming something along the lines of, "Jimmy you bastard! What the hell?"

You walk backwards, tripping over your feet. You do not get up. You feel tears running down your face. You do not help Meowth up.

You cry. You cry all those tears you've been saving up. You cry for Miyamoto, for the abuse you went through, for Cassidy. You cry the tears you didn't cry when you were raped. You cry because you lost your best friend. You lost everything.

You hear the twerps. You do not mind. You are still crying. You see Ash helping up Meowth. The cat walks over to you, drops into you lap, and nuzzles against you.

You do not feel anymore.

You lost your mother, your childhood, your dignity, and your innocence. You lost James. You feel like you have nothing to live for. Because really, you don't.

* * *

You feel pain again. You welcome it, because it has not visited you in a long time. You cross your legs and lean against the wall. You are in your apartment, back from James's funeral. You have no more tears. Meowth left the Team. You quit. You are cut off from the rest of the world. You are still dressed in black. You dare not wear anything brighter than black. Someone is knocking at your door. You say to come in. So the person does.

It's Misty. A girl from Cerulean that used to travel with Ash. She stares at you. She slips a paper into your lap, pulls you into a hug, and leaves. She closesthe door behind you.

The paper is a letter.

_Jessie,_  
_I'm sorry for your loss. Please do not give up. I know you want to die. I know you want to leave the world and never come back. But don't. You are beautiful. You are funny. You are nice...in a evil sort of way. Don't waste your life sulking about what you lost in your past. Celebrate what you won. Don't cry. Smile. Show the world your best when you feel the worst._

_Call me any time you want to talk. (555) 123-4567 xo-Misty_

You smile. You grab your phone, dial the number, and you talk.

About the times when you were three, five, twelve, fourteen, and twenty-three. How you felt and what you did. You cry when you remembered, but it felt great to cry because right now, you are not in pain. You are happy.

You are twenty-three. You are happy, for the first time in your life. You are painless. You are smiling. You can finally say with all smiles, that you, Jessica Smith, are okay.

You are three. You lost your mother.  
You are five. You can feel the sting of his hand.  
You are twelve. You feel the betrayal.  
You are fourteen. You know you were not ready.  
You are twenty-three. You just lost your best friend.

But yet you are smiling.

* * *

**A/N-**

**:( I'm sad now. I was in an angsty mood when I wrote this. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I should be writing Top of the World. And Something of a Tragedy. But this was an idea that came to me. review.**


End file.
